


The American Revolution, take 2; the Rebellion of 1831

by putconspiraciesinit



Series: Emperor Burr AU [3]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: Assassination, Character Death, Dismemberment, Gunplay, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, Polyamory, RIP Vanderlyn's Sideburns, Rebellion, Revolution, Saddest death in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 11:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: The White House is overtaken by an angry mob, and the imperial court and royal family slaughtered.TRIGGER WARNING FOR VIOLENCE. It's not Particularly graphic, but graphic enough, y'know?





	The American Revolution, take 2; the Rebellion of 1831

Years later, James Wilkinson would claim he had personally kicked down the door when the rebels had stormed the White House. He would show people the scars on his abdomen and arms while talking himself up. He would insist that he had _led_ the revolution. (In reality, he was not the one to kick down the door; that was an entirely different person, one DeWitt Clinton.)

 

***

 

The only people absolutely insane enough to be in the entryway waiting to try and fend off the mob were two original members of the Order of Public Relations (colloquially known as the Tenth Legion, the Burrites, or the Little Band); John Swartwout and William Van Ness. They were the first to die that day, having been very easily overwhelmed by the at least two-hundred people who came crashing through the door armed with guns and knives and various farming tools (scythes, pitchforks, you know the drill). One of the things Wilkinson would later say that was not some sort of lie was that the bodies were quite an unpleasant sight to behold, as one might expect from two men who were mutilated and trampled by an angry mob.

The remaining Lords of the Order of Public Relations--there were about twenty, now-- were next, as the mob spread out through the White House, searching and thoroughly trashing every room.

 

***

 

Evidently having no intention to go down without a fight, Empress Theodosia managed to shoot down several people in the mob and slash up several more before she was overwhelmed. Though the paintings would depict her dying gracefully, regal and proud as ever in her crown and extravagant purple dress, the truth was there was hardly anything left of her by the time the mob were finished. She died screaming in agony as the people tore her to pieces literally as they had been figuratively in their recent conversations.

 

***

 

Prince Joseph tried to reason with the mob. Asked them if they were really going to massacre the _whole_ court, asked them what he personally had actually done to incite their rage.

“This will only cause the political state of the whole empire to spiral out of control, do--”

But of course, who can reason with an angry mob? A bullet pierced the side of his head as he spoke, cutting him off mid-sentence and likely killing him very quickly.

 

***

 

They found Grand Prince Aaron--the former emperor--casually lounging around in bed, along with two of the men rumored to be his lovers, Jonathan and Aaron, the dukes of New Jersey. Not one of the three men looked distraught or shocked or any appropriate emotion for a person about to be brutally slaughtered. What irritated the mob even more, however, was how not one of the three men was wearing a shirt, and all three very much had the appearance of lovers immediately post-coitus. Of _course_ the grand prince would want to go out like that.

“Hello there,” he said, in that infamously cheerful and serene voice the public had long since grown to despise. “I suppose you’re here to kill us. Well, go on, then.”

One particularly deranged man who had been part of the mob and identified himself in writing only as ‘a _true_ American citizen’ claimed it had taken ten men to restrain Jonathan and Duke Aaron to force them to watch as he sodomized Grand Prince Aaron with the barrel of his musket before shooting him in the head. They had then, of course, shot Jonathan and Duke Aaron in the head as well. Everyone in the imperial court had to die.

 

***

 

“Son of a bitch. Son of a-- _mar sin cabhraigh liom Dia_ , I hate angry mobs! Get yourselves a hobby, do something useful with your lives!”

About twenty people entered the room to assassinate Harman. About sixteen left (and another four would eventually succumb to the stab wounds that were inevitable for anybody who decided to engage in any form of combat with the Duke of West Virginia).

 

***

 

A man looking utterly distraught and exhausted practically burst through the door, panting, holding out an envelope.

“My lord--from His Imperial Majesty the Grand Prince--it’s very urgent.”

Vanderlyn took the letter, almost not wanting to read it at all.

_My dear artist,_

_By the time this letter reaches you, it will be too late for the rest of the court--indeed, we_

_may all already have passed on into the next life. The men and women of the revolution_

_made it clear to me that they intend to kill every last peer in the empire. It is imperative_

_that you leave the country immediately; this place is no longer safe._

_I, for one, suggest you disguise yourself and seek shelter in England; I doubt they will be_

_willing to cross the ocean simply to kill one courtier._

_As this is to be my last letter to you, I feel I cannot simply give instructions and advice_

_and pass on terrible news. I…_

 

Absolutely not. Vanderlyn resolved not to read the remainder of the letter until he had safely reached Europe. He couldn’t afford to take time to process the emotional impact of realizing that his lover and most of his friends had just been murdered. He had to act. He had to get out of America before the mob came for him, too. He sought out a razor, dashed to the nearest mirror, and made quick work of his whiskers; surely this would render him less easy to recognize. It was really all he could do, at the moment.

 

***

It took a considerable sum of money to convince the captain of the first ship Vanderlyn could locate that was bound for England to let him on board. This likely raised some eyebrows, but within less than two hours of receiving the letter, he was _safe_. The ship left and that was it. No angry mob.

Part of him almost managed to feel like a coward, or to wish he’d gone down with the rest of the court. But really, most of him just felt incredibly lucky to be alive. He reached for his pocket, to finish reading Aaron’s letter.

Then stopped before reaching it, and sighed. A man can only take so much in one day. He almost felt as though if he never read his lover’s last words to him, perhaps he could convince himself the man wasn’t even dead. That his relocation to England was just a temporary security measure, and that someday, in a couple of years, he’d come back to America, and Aaron would be there waiting for him, and...and Vanderlyn was crying, now. It all hit him at once. Aaron was _dead_ . Theodosia, his closest friend, was dead. _Everyone_ was dead.

He put his face in his hands and sobbed.

What else could he do?


End file.
